Everything to Nothing
by Let Love In
Summary: The things we didn't see, and the things we wish we saw of the Hillwood gang. A variety of drabbles and oneshots. Requests welcome!
1. Special

**A/N: Please don't hate me! Trust me, Cannonball and Kissing the Lipless are still going at a steady pace, but sometimes I just feel the need to deviate completely from both of those stories and write snippets of something to keep the juices flowing. Anyway, just a collection of oneshots, ranging from one spectrum to the other. I hope you enjoy this first one!**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing!**

_Special_

"You're… you're leaving?"

It hit me like a bowling ball strikes down the pins. She stared gravely at me; her usual scowling lips were now pursed tightly together.

"It's probably for the best," she replied, as if trying to convince herself. I opened my mouth to speak but I knew that I didn't have the power to change her mind. Did I ever?

"I… listen, I didn't mean anything that I said, it's just that-"

"Don't apologize, Arnold," she muttered, completely stoic. I missed the scowl. "It's not you, it's everything else."

"But you just turned eighteen, we have five months of school left," I protested, shoving my stinging hands into my coat pockets. She shrugged; her usual burning eyes were snuffed out.

"You're trying to keep me here," she stated. A blush covered my cheeks when I noticed that Helga meant much more to me than just a grade school friend. She was, as Simmons used to say, "special".

"So what if I am?"

She laughed while turning her head to hide her escaping tears. I pretended not to notice.

"It's funny, that's all."

Her voice shook like the tremor of an earthquake. She looked back at me, the corners of her eyes twinkling with tears, and she smiled a little bit.

"I'll see you around, Arnold."

She clapped my shoulder with a gloved hand, and she squeezed it a little. The flickering tears in her eyes dripped silently and she turned, embarrassed, before she began walking down the endless sidewalk. Her body was just a speck by the time I turned around and went home.

No one has heard from her since.

**A/N: I hope you enjoyed! I know it was a bit of a downer, I'm sorry. Let me know what you thought, or suggest a oneshot that you would like me to write, if you please.**


	2. Sunday's Best

**A/N: I'm glad you are all enjoying these so far! Here's my second drabble, again sort of a downer. Enjoy!**

_Sunday's Best_

"Where are you going dressed like that, Arnoldo?"

He sat down in his desk and exhaled. The black suit was awkward and baggy, with sleeves that hung low and mismatched buttons. It's not like he was trying to impress anyone, though. No, that was the least of his worries.

"A wedding, or something?" Helga jeered once more, her upper lip curving into a sneer that he could have sworn she was born with. He turned around and gazed, half-lidded, at his classmate.

"No, Helga," he replied calmly before turning back around. He heard her grunt in frustration as she sunk back into her chair, clearly defeated. He stared blankly at his desk, keeping his lips tightly pursed until class started.

And even then, he kept them shut. So tight that the inside of his lips started to bleed.

So there he was, dressed in his Sunday's best at his desk with thoughts stumbling through his mind like they had been caught in a tornado. He couldn't focus on anything, not even a sentence, without delving into his inner lips once more. Maybe if he bit hard enough, he would just stop thinking altogether. Maybe the taste of blood would take his mind off the bitterness on his tongue.

And so he sat in this delusional coma until the bell rang, and the taunts and heckles of his classmates followed him through the hallway. They were finally shut out when he slammed the metal door behind him and walked home, his eyes planted steadily on the ground beneath him.

Cars passed, but the only sound he heard was ringing in his ears. He didn't even seem to notice the sweat on his forehead and his overheated skin as he approached the boarding house.

Swinging his backpack over his shoulder, he took out a jar. And from the side of the boarding house, he grasped a shovel between his hands and walked straight through to the backyard. And he dug a hole.

Dressed in his Sunday's best, he dropped the jar of their ashes into the hole. Staring at the dirt-speckled cap, he felt tears swell over his eyes.

He cried for them, his parents. He cried for their journey, their fatal struggle.

He cried for the fact that he didn't even know them.

**A/N: Sorry it was such a downer! Don't worry, hopefully my next one will be a Rhonda/Curly, maybe even a Gerald/Phoebe, nice and lighthearted! Review and let me know what you thought, or suggest some ideas or pairings!**


	3. Bobby Pins

**A/N: I'm not quite sure why I'm posting this. Enjoy, I suppose.**

"Ow!"

"Will you hold still?"

"Will you stop trying to _stab _me?"

"They are just bobby pins, baby sister, just… _hold still_. Stop! Stop stop stop! There… it's beautiful!"

Helga stared blankly into the mirror. Her simple blonde hair was piled on top of her head like a seven-layer cake. It almost looked like it would fall over if she moved even an inch. Behind her, Olga stood with her hands on her hips, wearing a triumphant smile of one who just conquered Mount Everest. The Mount Everest of hair. Yes, that was what it looked like.

"… It looks nice?"

Olga did not catch the doubt in that sentence. Instead she squealed and twirled around while chanting, "I knew it! See… and you said it would look bad…!"

Helga stood up and smoothed out the crease in the front of her pale blue dress. It was the night of P.S. 118's fifth grade formal dance and she had regretfully allowed her sister to mold her hair into this pile of blonde and bobby pins.

"Now, what do we do about this bow," Olga said to herself, staring at the ever-present pink ribbon hidden in the middle of the bird's nest.

"_Hi, nice bow._"

"Maybe we should just cut it out, or…"

"_Huh?"_

"You've grown too old for it, anyhow, right Helga?"

"_I like your bow."_

"No!" she shouted suddenly. Olga gave a jolt. "I mean, no. Just keep it in. I'm going to be late."

**A/N: Yeah... I don't know! **


	4. Wondering

**A/N: This is just a future one-shot, Phoebe-centric. I hope you enjoy!**

Phoebe often found herself wondering. Not so much about the here-and-now, and not so much about the future, either. Mostly about things that would never be changed and people who were destined to stay as mere memories in her cloudy mind.

As she stood idly in her parents old house, suitcase in hand, she was wondering. About everything she told herself not to wonder about. She hadn't returned to Hilwood since her sophomore year of college and she hadn't expected it to look so… unchanged. Her childhood home still stood high in its urban neighborhood, standing as one of the tallest ones on the block. Her parents had the same furniture. The skies were still cloudy-with-a-chance-of-rain and the ice cream truck still ran every day, at around noon. It still played tinkling music from the wrong season. She sighed.

"It was good to see you, honey," her mother cooed as she hugged Phoebe tightly. "We'll be happy to have you back anytime."

Phoebe nodded and hugged her father as well, before thanking them and saying her goodbyes. Once the door behind her was shut, she let her shoulders slump just a little lower. She couldn't stop herself from wondering…

Almost against her own will, she threw her stuff into her car and pulled a risky U-turn. All she would do was stop by his house. That's all. No ringing the doorbell, no getting out of the car. Just a peek. Her old car spat and sputtered as she let her speed run higher and higher. Stopping by his house was almost like a guilty pleasure to her, like eating a whole bag of Oreos. She was just going to stuff her face while no one was around, and neglect to tell anyone about it. It doesn't mean she wouldn't feel awful for doing it.

She turned her radio down as she neared his house, as if he would be able to hear it from inside. If he was inside, of course. If he still lived here.

At last, that familiar red brick house came into her view. Her lungs constricted as she saw that window, his bedroom window, looking out onto the sidewalk with the permanent hopscotch chalk etched into it. Her mind wandered back to when he would talk to her through that window when he was grounded, and then that one time when he got so mad at her that she had to throw rocks at the window to get him to talk. She remember when he led her onto the roof just to tell her that he loved her.

Feeling tight in her chest, she stared down at the front door. Phoebe tried desperately to fight that feeling that seemed to surface when she looked at it. It was just a stoop, after all.

_"Don't leave, okay?" he pleaded her as she fumbled anxiously for her car keys. "He didn't mean it. I promise."_

_She let her hands go limp inside her purse, deciding that her shaking fingers were not capable of finding her keys. She squeaked quietly, "I… he's right, you know."_

"_He's not right," came a cold reply. "My brother has no idea what he's talking about. He's just an ass, Phoebe. He thinks everything he says is funny."_

"_Yeah, well it's not," she replied suddenly, her voice shrill and tight. Slipping her hands out of her purse, she clenched them hard at her sides as she stared up at him. Her throat closed uncomfortably as she continued, "I-I just wanted your family to like me…"_

"_They do!" he exclaimed, reaching down to grab her shoulders. "Jamie-O makes fun of the people he likes, I swear. Phoebe… don't cry, okay?"_

"_I'm not crying," she lied, even as he wiped away a trickling tear. "Do you really think that-"_

_She had no time to finish the sentence. The grip he had on her shoulders intensified as he brought his face just inches away from hers. She barely had time to gasp before his lips pushed against hers, forcefully at first, but then gentle and tentative. Their first kiss._

_When he finally pulled away, he muttered, "Don't let him put thoughts into your head. I'm not going anywhere."_

Phoebe barely noticed that her car had come to a complete stop in front of his house. The veins in her knuckles were prodding out of her skin as she gripped the wheel, and it hurt to unfurl them from the grip. She could have sworn that she could still see them standing there under the buzzing porch light, sixteen years old and horribly naïve.

And suddenly, she saw the slightest bit of movement in his bedroom window curtain. On instinct, her foot was pressing hard down on the gas and she was tearing out of the neighborhood as fast as she would allow it. She didn't even think twice as her car whizzed past Gerald Field and out onto the highway, away from Hilwood and away from his memory.

Phoebe decided that she needed to stop wondering.


End file.
